PANCHO LOPEZ, THE LAZY SON OF A GUN
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The title is a line from a song sung by Lalo Guerrero, an immigrant from Mexico long ago who received the Presidential Citizens Medal from President Bill Clinton, the second highest US civilian award. Lalo sang many songs that were satire based on the culture differences between Mexicans and Anglos. His music defused a lot of racial stress, especially in California. Go figure.
So, here are some immigrants who have been a blessing to me:
Joe Sanchez was a member of my home church, and while I was in college his family welcomed me many times into their home. They also took me every few Sundays to Joe's Mexican Restaurant on Indiana street where I ate Huevos Rancheros. When I got back to the dorm at college after church, I would often find money in my coat pocket. Joe always denied putting it there, but I know it was he who did it. Joe claimed his favorite hymn was Shall We Gather at the River? Go figure.
Our property had no fence around it in 2008. We found a Hispanic man who did fences for a good price. He brought Mexicans to work on the fence, and they worked hard in the hot summer sun and built a very good fence, including doing a couple of tricks to solve problems. All five of the workers claimed their name was Pancho. Again, go figure.
I tuned pianos in Nogales, Arizona and had the town to myself because Anglo tuners in Tucson would not tune in Nogales. I loved it because those immigrant Hispanic American citizens in Nogales treated me way better than I deserved. I was never referred to as a "Gringo." The worst I was ever called was "Senor Blanco" (Mr. White). I learned from a merchant I got to know that he wanted to turn in a rather prominent drug dealer to law enforcement, but he was frightened of revenge. I had a customer who was a US Customs agent, and I asked him how I could help turn in the drug dealer. The agent told me none of the US drug enforcement agencies would protect me if they needed my witness in court. He said that if that happened, my wife, daughter, or mother would get a Medellรญn Drug Cartel "necklace" (slit throat) from the drug lords. The US Customs agent begged me not to report the dealer, and he promised me that the man would get caught eventually. Go figure.
I have friends from Africa who came to America to find better employment and give their kids a better environment to grow up. We share a love for Africa and Kenya in particular. I am always welcome in their home, and they always send me home with some sort of African food. I was making a cup of Karicho Gold tea this morning from some they gave me, and that is what inspired this post. Their daughter supplies me with pastries from her home business. These folks have a good relationship with their neighbors, and they have improved their land to become a sort of African oasis in Texas. Go figure.
I end with ancient history, for me anyway. After I graduated from college in California, I drove to Michigan to visit Elizabeth, and the visit ended at the wedding altar. I had found a job at Brown Paper Company in Kalamazoo. I set up the first sample area in a 90 year old company, which was a rodeo ride for me. The biggest problem I had was to convince blue collar union men in the paper mill to send me paper samples, and I had to convince the millwrights to repair my antique paper trimmer. I made a friend of a union man, Fritz Burger, and for some reason, he really took a liking to me and wanted me to succeed. So, when I needed paper samples in a hurry, or when the monster paper trimmer broke, I would tell Fritz. He would go to the area involved and convince them to ignore the union rules and put me at the front of the line.
Fritz had been a German soldier in World War II and had been terribly humiliated by the US Army officers who processed him into the new world of defeated Germany. But, he immigrated to America anyway. I listened to his stories with sympathy, and I visited his home basement which he had made into a beer garden. I did not drink his beer, but he had few American friends who appreciated his beer garden which I thought looked very German and friendly, at least if you were a boozer. If it had not been for Fritz, I would have had a huge burden of paper work and begging to do to make the sample area a success. Go figure.
We are a nation of immigrants. Even the American Indians, who are said to be the original Americans, were really immigrants over a thousand years ago when the Baring Straits froze over, and they immigrated from Mongolia or China to what is now Alaska. My ancestor, Jacobus Jansen, came from the Netherlands to New Amsterdam (New York) in 1695. There is virtually NO difference between me and an immigrant who just arrived in Texas from Mexico yesterday. Some came in ships, some by plane, and some swam the Rio Grande River. Go figure.
Let us stop whining about illegal immigrants. Yes, they are illegal, but they have the same thing on there mind as my ancestor or yours. Maybe life in America will be better than here. Maybe the king (president or dictator) back home will not find me there. Maybe I will not have to bribe every cop and official in town to survive. Maybe I can go home to visit the family in Sonora, Mexico some day, and I can take them a microwave for Christmas.
Finally, as Bible believers, we have two huge reasons to be kind to any immigrants who are law abiding:
1. GOD TOLD US TO-
๐๐ฒ๐๐ถ๐๐ถ๐ฐ๐๐ ๐ญ๐ต:๐ฏ๐ฐ - "๐๐๐ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ ๐ฑ๐๐ฒ๐น๐น๐ฒ๐๐ต ๐๐ถ๐๐ต ๐๐ผ๐ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐น๐น ๐ฏ๐ฒ ๐๐ป๐๐ผ ๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฎ๐ ๐ผ๐ป๐ฒ ๐ฏ๐ผ๐ฟ๐ป ๐ฎ๐บ๐ผ๐ป๐ด ๐๐ผ๐, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐น๐ ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐ต๐ถ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ ๐๐ต๐๐๐ฒ๐น๐ณ; ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ ๐ถ๐ป ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐น๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐๐ด๐๐ฝ๐: ๐ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐ ๐๐ผ๐๐ฟ ๐๐ผ๐ฑ."
๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฑ:๐ฏ๐ฑ - "๐๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐ฎ๐ป ๐ต๐๐ป๐ด๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฑ, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ฒ ๐ด๐ฎ๐๐ฒ ๐บ๐ฒ ๐บ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐: ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐๐ต๐ถ๐ฟ๐๐๐, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ฒ ๐ด๐ฎ๐๐ฒ ๐บ๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ป๐ธ: ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐ฎ ๐๐๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐ฒ๐ฟ, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ผ๐ธ ๐บ๐ฒ ๐ถ๐ป"
๐๐ฒ๐ฏ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐๐ ๐ญ๐ฏ:๐ฎ - "๐๐ฒ ๐ป๐ผ๐ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ๐ด๐ฒ๐๐ณ๐๐น ๐๐ผ ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ฎ๐ถ๐ป ๐๐๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐ฒ๐ฟ๐: ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฏ๐ ๐๐ผ๐บ๐ฒ ๐ต๐ฎ๐๐ฒ ๐ฒ๐ป๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ฎ๐ถ๐ป๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐ฒ๐น๐ ๐๐ป๐ฎ๐๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐."
When we turn away or offend an illegal immigrant, the Apostle, under inspiration, tells us some of them may actually be angels come to see if the love of Christ is in us. Go figure.
Missions has become low priority in most local churches in America these days. Missionaries find it harder and harder to raise the support they need to live in their target nation. So, God has sent the mission field to us. So, pastor, do you make any effort to take the Gospel to immigrants in America? Do you have a member who is fluent in Spanish, one who could give the Gospel to Mexicans in your community? I assure you that the Whore of Rome, the Vatican, has an aggressive program to win immigrants to their church. Go figure.
2. MUCH OF OUR COMMERCE CANNOT FUNCTION WITHOUT THEM-
We are finding, right now, the cost of throwing all those illegals back over the line into Chihuahua and Sonora instead of finding a way to make them legal in the San Juaquin Valley or in Texas. I know farmers in Arizona who will go bankrupt if all the illegal workers are run out of America. Very very few are dangerous criminals. I have known illegals who were very passive and timid and just wanted enough pay to send some home to Mama in Sonora so that she can feed the babies better. Go figure.
So, back to Lalo Guerrero.
